Fallen Angels
by Distant Storm
Summary: [He knows that she watches him by day, waiting for a glimpse of the moon in his eyes.] KaiHil OneShot.


Disclaimer: I don't own beyblade. Woot woot.

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Fallen Angels

Hilary looks out at the ocean. It is beautiful, the way the waves come in, rushing and gushing in the most beautiful cascade of clarity. She knows who she is looking for. He stands alone by the water, looking up at the stars intently. He seems to fit in here, where as he struggles to maintain his worldliness during the day.

Personally, she prefers him at night. At night, under a partly cloudy sky, a bright moon, and countless stars, she sees who he really is, because he is not too cool for this world. The world of the day is not his own, nor will he ever truly exist there completely. She swears that a part of him is lost in the stars. That is the part she longs to find, for it would make him whole.

"Some things are best left to the stars," He said simply, sensing her presence and answering her question without having to hear it.

He speaks more at night, though he never speaks much, period. She never asks him to speak, and yet she always receives the response she is looking for. It is one of her abilities. She never has to demand to know something, for he knows what it is before she even has the chance to say it. Once upon a time, someone had taught him how to read people. This person had been very skilled, for he almost always knew what they wished to know -- and had answered it -- before they had even asked their question.

"Then how does one become whole?"

His eyes, shielded generously by sooty lashes and half-closed lids, turn toward her. She looks up curiously, her molten bronze eyes burning with the questions she will never have to ask. He knows her questions, even if he does not know the answers. Amythyst glimmers at her, the quiet ivory of the moon aiding their almost tinted grey-violet hue to become a lightly tinted lily color.

How was he, with such a blood-stained and brutal past, such an angel? In the daylight, he is not this pale-skinned, sensitive and wide-eyed young man. He is ruthless, merciless, and who he believes he is supposed to be. She knows that his behavior in the night was not something that one speaks about after the moon's dominance has ended, and nor is it subject to discussion amongst the unpresent in these experiences.

Kai Hiwatari blinked twice, still pondering her question wordlessly. His vest lay discarded somewhere by the break wall up toward the rest of civilization. Near such a piece of clothing was a long-sleeved shirt, two pairs of shoes, and matching set of socks for each pair. The girl standing before him looked up at him without speaking again. They could stand for hours and say nothing, but yet the cool sea breeze and incoming waves would sit between them easily. She had abandoned the shirt she had worn the entire day, opting to keep on a small lavender and white set of racerback tanks that easily match the long jeans she has rolled to her mid-calf.

She takes his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. Seamlessly, the collaboration of their skins -- his a beautiful, pale eastern-European, a blend of snow and pearl, and hers, a narrowly darker, sun-kissed light gold -- come together, and she lifts his hand to her lips, pressing the gentlest of kisses upon the back of his soft-skinned hand. Looking up came to no surprise, and he easily met her eyes, reaching his free hand up to trace the gentle curve of her face.

When his eyes close, he knows she has something to say. He will listen; he will always listen here. For it was in this place, where the heavens touch the earth and give him the guidance he seeks out to make it through the day.

"Show me," he says, eyes still shut, his face tilted in her direction, the direction of the wind.

She leans up on her toes and presses a kiss to each eyelid, her thumbs resting upon them first to give him the sense of softness he has never felt before her. She can feel his eyes flutter underneath the silkiness of her kisses, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest, but never stops as she makes a trail of sweet caresses down his face and neck.

He knows that she watches him by day, waiting for a glimpse of the moon in his eyes.

He is a fallen angel. Her mission is merely to show him the way.

She doesn't say it, but he knows.

Each kiss is a promise.

_Owari._


End file.
